When the rain fades to drizzle
and the sun dances between clouds,
do not go stomping in puddles -
the time for that is
later or long passed.

Instead,
sit at the altar of your window
or walk your mantra around the block
count every droplet and its reflection
catch prisms in every glistening atom
read the merry writing of the skies
and remember-
rainbows do not roar
they whisper.

Jan. 2, 2006

Rings around Rosa

Her casket the size of a child,
she lies in the Capitol rotunda
honored by a country that did not
welcome her quiet rebellion,
her reminder of what children
already know – that we are
all born free.

later, presidents and priests
sing her praises while children
retell her story on classroom stages
and millions weep gratefully in
their hearts for her life of courage.

She had no children
of her own but everyone needed her
for their mother, from kings
to country women:

Enslaved by fate if not law,
a people cry out in despair,
and looking for a King in a
coat of many colors
a master of good fortune
who can feed them
despite the floods,
lead them to high land
or a dry cool bed;
read them stories of salvation
that still come true;
knead them acts of hope
like babies eating raisins,
children singing songs,
old men drinking whiskey,
firemen saving queens,
preachers sharing love,
buses leaving town.

Never
mind looking glasses; it is walls that we must learn to walk
through...the former lead us only into the miasma of our own fears, the
latter let us into the intimate lives of others not as flies but as
participants in a dance of particles choreographed by the will of the
Spirit and designed only to bring us ever closer to each other and
Love. There may be six degrees of separation but there are no degrees
of love for it is not meant to be mastered but lives as an infinite
ellipse beyond measurement or edges, subject only to the limits of our
imaginations and the walls of our fears